


Sin

by Apollynos



Series: Humanity - Saints and Sinner [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Good and Evil, M/M, Rare Pairings, Soldiers, World War II, deep thoughts, prucan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apollynos/pseuds/Apollynos
Summary: 1944 - The last stages of the war in Europe have begun, as has the desire for a new life for Gilbert, former soldier of the Eastern Front and SS-Soldier. Gilbert had emigrated to france and held good contact in letter form with this spanish friend Antonio. However, his life changed 180 degrees one day when he made a fateful encounter with a young canadian solider.





	1. Memories

>>Hola Gilbert!

I hope you are doing well where you are now? I settled in here super. I even started playing the guitar again and I have a garden full of tomatoes too. The weather is just fantastic, I wish you were here too, then we could enjoy the evening sun, with a glass of wine and a cigarette together ... Ah I miss you, amigo.

Adiós, Antonio<<

Gilbert smiled and folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, then he laid it carefully over the other letters. He squeezed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the small wooden table and picked up the crutch, get himself up heavily to his feet, and leaned briefly on the table.

It was almost a year ago and yet he had not gotten used to this annoying thing.

A frustrated growl escaped his lips and he grabbed the cigarette pack, tucked it into the pocket of his black trousers, then reached for his jacket and purse.  
Slowly, he strutted to the front door and opened it, he really needed fresh air and a drink, like every night - He was certainly not an alcoholic, he enjoyed only the small walks to the pub, the music that played there and the drinks he get, as well as the many different people who were so laid back and had a last bit of zest for life despite all the bad things that were happening out there. And he would lie, if he would say, that he wasn't being part of it himself.

Pictures appeared in his mind and he shook his head, trying to drive those pictures away again. He tried to pretend that they are not there.

He simply could not do it yet. He couldn't think of what he had done yet.  
Just as little as he could think about what had happened.  
To what he had lost.  
No, those wounds were clearly too fresh.

He bit his lower lip and continued his way.  
He walked slowly along the empty streets of the small province near Paris, the lanterns bathed them in a warm light and he breathed deeply into the cool spring air.

"Salut Gilbert," the bartender greeted him kindly, with a big grin on his face. The Prussian nodded to the man with a smile and hung his jacket on the hook next to the doorf, before going over to a small round wooden table in the corner of the pub.

His regular place for months.

One of the waiters brought him a glass of red wine. A Château Mouton Rothschild. Francis had recommended this wine to him on the eastern front a long time ago.  
He grinned at the thought of the lively Frenchman.

>>If you ever come to France, then we will drink this wine together. Believe me mon ami, you won't regret it!<<

He took the glass in his hand and waved it cautiously, watching the liquid running along the glass wall, taking a deep breath of the harsh smell of the wine, then he took the first sip in memory of his French comrade.  
The second sip went to Antonio, who led his life as he had always wished.  
The third sip went to his little brother, of whom he didn't even know if he was still alive.

That thought somehow frustrated him.

He set the empty glass down and leaned back, extending his left broken leg slightly and looking out of the window. Observed the few people walking in front of the pub and smiled slightly.

The Prussian would definitely answer Antonio's letter today, telling him that everything was fine with him.

As fine as it could be.

He sighed and looked away from the window, ordered another wine, and then continued his thoughts, when he suddenly heard a noise.

The door to the pub opened and a small group of people came in, he quickly recognized the look of them and the language they spoke, they have to be American Soldiers.  
He slipped a little deeper into the chair, which was nonsense, when he thought about it, 'cause he wasn't a wanted criminal. He was just a broken soldier, back from the front. Slightly undercover in france, far away from his responsabilities and duties as a soldier. Or something like that.

Attentively he looked at the new arrivals, who sat down at one of the large tables, right near the bar. The Americans looks like they wanted more than one glass today.

The waiter came to bring him his wine again, Gilbert thanked him and then turned back to the mute observation of the Americans, when suddenly he noticed one particularly.

A quiet young man, no older than 20 maybe. He had ashblond chin-length hair and big blue eyes, he looks lost between all the other Americans but there was something else - something that fascinated Gilbert, but he could not make out exactly what it was.

He sipped on his glass and let the red liquid run down his throat, out of the corner of his eye he looked over at the stranger when their eyes met at some point.

Was the boy smiling at him?


	2. Painful thoughts

Attentively, the Prussian watched the troop Americans, drinking one drink at a time, apparently telling each other stories about everything and nothing.  
Especially one of them Gilbert pointed out he was rather uncomfortable with, he looked pretty similar to the other, who caught his attention, but something is other about this guy.  
Maybe it was the bomber jacket he was wearing or the loud organ he has. Wildly gesticulating and with a strong southern accent, the American described something, waving his drink back and forth and laughing loudly while his comrades joined in at some point.  
Gilbert rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh and looked back at the other American. He radiated a calm and somehow kept the group in a certain balance, which pleased the Prussians very much; Besides that, the boy had a really pretty face, since Gilbert came here he had rarely seen such a beautiful thing.

He smiled wistfully over his idiotic thoughts.

He finally took the last big sip of his wine and grabbed his crutch, got up and walked slowly to the bar where he paid and tipped generously. He grabbed his jacket from the hook and pulled it over, he had the feeling that someone watched him. The gray-haired man opened the door and left the pub in the cool night air of the streets of Neuilly-sur-Seine.

*

"Hey Matt, are you even listening to me?" The blonde American asked his half brother, who was staring at the door.  
Matthew jumped a little and shook his head. "Yes, of course I'm listening, sorry Alfred, I was probably in thought."  
"I've seen that, Dude," Alfred laughed and patted his shoulder before drunk out his drink. Matthew just smiled timidly and looked over his shoulder at the door again, he had seen how this strange man looked at him and he found it fascinating, normally he was overlooked by others or they only had eyes for Alfred; What he could understand, the American was really funny and charismatic.

And yet the stranger had looked at him.  
The stranger with the gray short hair that hung fringed in his forehead. This pale, sharp cutted face, with its hard cheekbones, but what he really kept in his mind, was those reddish shimmering narrow eyes of the man. They fascinated the young canadian.

A smile crept up to his lips and he picked up his cognac glass and dumped the golden liquid into his throat. He set the empty glass on the table and looking at Alfred, who told a fun experience in England where he met >>Alice<< but Matthew was the only one who knew that there was no blond woman named Alice in Alfred's life, there was only a British gentleman with the name Arthur and whom Alfred had unconditionally lost his heart to.

The Canadian's thoughts drifted off again to the strange man at the table in the far corner of the bar.  
He had a crutch and Matthew wondered if he was a war veteran. Maybe even one of the French army? But the man doesn't really look pretty french to him. He lowered his eyes thoughtfully.  
What if he was a German soldier?  
Barely noticeable, he shook his head and rejected the thought. If that's the case, he could forget it to know him better and he really wished for it, even if he was sure that the man won't remember him.

But something in Matthew hoped to see the strange man again and hoped to get noticed by him again.

*

Gilbert had returned to his apartment, unable to think of anything but the young man whom he had seen in the bar.  
That slender face, those big blue eyes and the ash-blond hair with that one curl hanging in his forehead.  
Sighing, he hung the jacket on the hook in the hallway and leaned the crutch against the wall, he slowly crept to the balcony and opening the door, stepped outside and lit a cigarette, which he smoked with relish.

His thoughts darted to him again.  
Damn, that doesn't make any sense anyway. He would probably never see him again. Besides, he was part of the American Army, and once he found out who Gilbert really was, he would probably be arrested, after all, he was a vile man and a criminal.

That's exactly what he was.  
He was a soldier who fought for his country at the front and he was one of the men in black who played god with the lives of innocent people.

Sharply he sucked in the air by his last thought and blew out the smoke.  
He was not allowed to think back to it.  
The losses at the front and the losses he caused by himself.

Trembling, he held the cigarette between his fingers and felt a slight pain in his leg. He narrowed his eyes and pushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, limping back into the apartment and made his way to the bathroom, where he opened the small medicine cabinet and pulled out a tablet.

The pain got worse.

He took the cup from the sideboard and filled it with the water from the tab, he swallowed the tablet and rinsed it off. His eyes fell in the mirror and he looked at himself.  
The skin ashen, dark edges under the reddish shimmering eyes and an empty look in these.  
There were only a few moments when his eyes were filled with life.

And for months these moments have become more less and less.

He snorted contemptuously and returned to the living room where he sat down at the table, he stretched out his broken leg and the tablet finally worked slowly. He gradually relaxed.  
Sighing, he drew paper and pencil, which was always on the small wooden table and he decided to write to his little brother, that was something he usually did after taking the painkiller. But he didn't know if Ludwig would ever answer him or if he ever received the letters.

If Ludwig is still alive...

Painfully, he grimaced and shook his head.  
No, he should not think of that, if he continued to believe his brother would live, then he did.

God, Gilbert hoped it.

He remembered tha time when Ludwig was finally ready to join the army and fight for his country. He was put to the "Wehrmacht" and was sent to Italy. He doesn't heard from him since than.

This was already two years ago.

Gilbert closed his eyes in frustration, put down the pen and got up; On shaking legs, he went into the bedroom and changed his clothes, undressed he was remembered by his scarred body again.  
His left knee was pretty much demolished at the time when trying to save what could still be saved. Which unfortunately was not that much.  
He still remembered exactly when that Russian aimed the barrel of the rifle at him. Gilbert had already ended his life but no, instead he had only punished him. And now he still will be punished for the rest of his life. Only by his injuries.

And who know, maybe he deserved it.

Stop. Do not think about it again, he admonished himself and lay heavily on the mattress of his bed.

One of the drawbacks of the painkillers - they made him terribly tired.  
He felt his eyelids getting heavier by the time, he closed his eyes and got a clear picture of the young man from the pub. A smile crept on his lips before he fell asleep.

>>Hello Ludwig,

I don't know if you get the letters and read them, or maybe I don't really want to know if you get them, because that would mean that you are either alive and have little time to answer what would be perfectly okay, the life as Soldier is exhausting - or it means you already ... I can not write it out. I'm sorry.

I miss you and hope you take good care of yourself if you should read this ... I just wanted to let you know that ... Take care, promise me that.  
The war is getting cruel and I fear there is no end in sight.

Your big brother, Gilbert.<<


End file.
